


i've lived through my share of misfortune and i've worked in the blazing sun

by notthebigspoon



Series: Jet Black Sky Is Painted White Again [4]
Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-28
Updated: 2012-08-28
Packaged: 2017-11-13 02:42:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/498548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notthebigspoon/pseuds/notthebigspoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brandon Belt: sexually conflicted and a little bit of an asshole about it.</p><p>Title taken from Typical by Mutemath.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i've lived through my share of misfortune and i've worked in the blazing sun

Maybe he's imagining something that isn't there, but the second that they touch down in Houston, Hunter gets that same feeling he always gets when he lands in Texas. He feels, quickly and suddenly, that he's _home_. The loneliness that sometimes claws at him from the inside when he's away disappears as if it never existed at all.

As soon as they're checked into the team hotel and he's put his bag in his room, he meets his family in the lobby and heads out for lunch. He sees other players with their families and he can't stop smiling. There's something about the good feelings all around that's infectious. He's generally a pretty happy guy and he wants the people around him to be happy.

Hayley has one of his hands and Striker has the other, both of them talking a mile a minute and telling him all the things they want to do while they get to see him. He smiles down at them, feels that sense of amazement he does every time he looks at them, before looking up. He can see Belt surrounded by, Hunter presumes, his family members.

But then. Then Brandon catches his eye and instead of a smile or even just a nod, he seems to freeze and then narrows his eyes in a glare, shaking his head and turning his back to Hunter.

It doesn't make sense. Hunter thought things had been going pretty well. He'd went to the diner as usual after their last game and Belt had arrived shortly after. They ate dinner and Hunter had taken him to a movie afterward. They'd went back to Hunter's place afterward, spent the night wound around each other. The day off had been spent at a cookout at Cain and his wife had had. He hadn't gone out with Belt last night, but they'd spent over an hour on the phone.

He can't place anything he might have said or did where things went wrong, definitely nothing that would have earned him that look of anger and derision. But then Striker is pulling on his hand and begging to know if they can go buy candy tomorrow. Hunter's incapable of telling him no and he promises that they will, grinning when his nephew cheers.

Striker hugs him and Hunter forgets all about Belt and the dirty look.

Well, until he has to split from his family and depart for the park anyway. He finds himself wondering again what he could have possibly done and if he maybe just imagined it. It wouldn't be the first time, although the last time he was kind of stoned out on painkillers.

He changes in the visitor's clubhouse, grabs his kindle and hunkers down in his chair. He's been reading The Dreyfus Affair after Castro had jokingly mentioned it and he's found himself sucked into it, entirely invested in Randy and DJ and wanting them to get the happy ending that he knows he never will. They've just gotten busted on camera when he finally hears Belt's voice.

He comes in laughing and grinning, shooting the shit with Zito. They're doing some sort of weird gesture, talking about moose and making a noise that Hunter's never really heard before. He looks up, finds himself feeling hopeful without knowing why and meets Belt's eyes as the kid's wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. As soon as he sees Hunter, though, the mirth is gone. He isn't quite glaring, the angry glare of a few hours ago replaced by a slight scowl.

This is it, Hunter thinks. He isn't okay with himself, he can be with a guy and he's going to hate Hunter for being the one to finally taken him to bed instead of just giving him a stolen moment in a bar bathroom. He can't be with Hunter, he's changed his mind. It hurts a lot more than Hunter thought that it would.

Things take a slight turn for the better when they're called out to warm up and take BP. He's stretching, turning at the waist and stretching his hands over his head to pop his back and shoulders. He's barely lowered his arms and started to answer a question Pagan just asked him when he's hit with a full body tackle from behind, landing flat on his stomach and groaning.

He shifts around, glares at whoever's laughing at him before turning onto his ass and... oh. Castro. Of course. Hunter climbs to his feet and they scowl at each other for all of five seconds before Castro is beaming and Hunter is yanking him into a tight hug, thumping him on the back. They laugh and bullshit and jab at each other, Castro throwing in a couple of ass grabs for good measure.

The angry and dirty looks from Belt start to become consistent. Hunter warms up, does his time in the cage but any time he gets a minute, he ends up with Castro, their heads ducked together as they catch up, in person for the first time in months. He glances up occasionally, glancing around because one of Hunter's quirks is having to be absolutely aware of his surroundings. He catches a glimpse of Lyles and if looks could kill, Hunter would be dead.

“Think your boy there is a little jealous.”

“Who?” 

“Lyles.”

“Nah, I don't think so.”

“Me and him got along fine last year. Now all of a sudden he looks like he wants to murder me. You're still sleeping with him, aren't you?” Hunter asks, giving Castro a look. The guy glances at his feet and clears his throat. “Definitely still sleeping with him. Maybe you shouldn't lead him on. I'm thinking he's attached and we both know you don't do commitment.”

“He's fine. He doesn't like how I do things, he doesn't have to keep spreading his-”

“Jason!” Hunter snaps, and it's loud enough to make people stare. He pinches the bridge of his nose, shaking his head slowly. “Jase. Stop it. Stop doing this. What good does it do? None. A person doesn't get that angry or jealous if they don't care. When are you going to stop fucking around and try to find someone?”

“Yeah, speaking of finding someone, I see you've already crashed and burned with Belt.” Jason sneers. It hurts, a little, but Hunter doesn't let it show. That's not the issue right now.

“So it went south. At least I tried. Just wish you'd try for once.”

“Pencey...”

“Don't Pencey me. Take him out on a date tonight.”

“Or?”

“Or continue on a path that ends up with you alone and miserable and middle aged, being hit on by old bear types that have lowered their standards.”

Castro looks at him and it's like he can't decide if he wants to laugh or be angry. He finally ends up laughing, giving Hunter a one armed hug. Hunter nudges his cheek with his knuckles, sighing. Well, at least he's made progress with someone. He extracts a promise from Castro that he'll take Lyles out on a date tonight after the game before departing for his own dugout and his own team.

He's double checking his gear as usual (and which he will end up checking and rechecking before the game starts) when he feels like he's being watched. When he looks up, Belt is glaring at him again and Hunter decides he's had it. He stalks over and grabs Belt's arm, snapping for him to come with Hunter. Not that he gives him a choice. He drags him into the tunnels and finds a quiet spot.

“What the hell is your problem? You've been looking at me like you want to kill me since we got to Houston!”

“What is wrong with you?” Belt asks, voice low and laced with venom and contempt.

“Well. I could make a list. I'm overly dependent on routine as a method of controlling my life because I have little control over where I work and live. I'm a little obsessive compulsive but it's weak enough to be just a quirk as opposed to a legitimate mental condition.” Hunter grins. “That's a start. I could go on all day.”

“Any guy will do, won't it? You people don't care.”

The smile drops away and Hunter just, stares. “Us people? And who do you mean, us people?”

“Queers!”

“Okay, because I know you're struggling, I'm going to let that one pass. Fuck, I let Jace get away with a lot worse for a lot longer.” Hunter says flatly. “But you say shit like that again and I will not hesitate to deck you. What the fuck is your problem? What got this started?”

“You and your inability to control yourself! I mean, I was with my family and you were just staring at me and-”

“Belt, I looked at you. I looked at a lot of people. I was thinking that it was nice that so many people were getting to see their families and were so happy. Quit projecting your own issues onto me. Thanks for saying that, though, because now I know exactly what your problem is. You saw me, probably had a case of the warm and fuzzies and freaked out. Started thinking that everyone around you was looking at you and just knew that you have big gay feelings for one of your teammates.”

“That's... you don't... you don't know anything.”

“Know a fuck of a lot more than you do, rook.”

In spite of Hunter's anger, the conflicted look on Brandon's face actually kind of breaks his heart. He looks angry and broken and confused all at once. Hunter wonders how deep that self hate goes, wonders what's going through Belt's mind right now, but he doesn't have the time to deal with it. He has a game and he gets to see his family again later, at least for a few minutes before he has to go back to the team hotel. He doesn't want to deal with someone else's issues right now. He's a little tired of taking care of other people.

“Y'know what? I'm a patient guy and I can understand being wound up, unsure. But I'm done. Hate yourself for being gay, hate me for being gay, fine. Whatever. Deal with your own shit. You're not my problem anymore. ”

Belt doesn't say anything when Hunter shoves him out of the way and walks back to the dugout. Hunter goes to the water cooler, drinks three glasses in rapid succession before finally resting his forehead against his hand. There's a hand on his back. He turns his head. Pagan.

“Are you okay? You don't look so good.”

“M'fine, Pagan. Fucking perfect.”


End file.
